Porcupine Gloves
by himitsutsubasa
Summary: AU. Roddy works in a clock work shop, avoids his violin, and makes music boxes. His friends are funny. His boss is strict but kind. His father getting on the right track. He lives his life. One day, he has a heated arguement with a customer, a regular toff. Thus begins a rough relationship that might blossom into more. B/R
1. TwentyOne Canons

Wall of Disclaimers is up.

AU. I have to tell all you now that this is very different.

THERE ARE NO WESEN. Got that? The time line has been altered along with major plot points.

This is also a steampunk AU. They still have hansom cabs and cravats. The states never won independence from England in this universe. Therefore, there are Americanisms and Britishisms. There is also a pretty interesting difference between the rich and the poor. And, since I never really elaborate on it, I will mention now that there was a epidemic years ago. That caused many people to replace body parts they lost to disease with working prosthetics made of clockworks.

Everyone good to go? Let's go!

* * *

Roddy curled into himself as the cannons sounded over head. He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near the field. This spot was secured and for authorized personnel only. As soon as the cannons let up, he started running. He hopped the fence and kept running to freedom on the other side.

Just a few more feet. Roddy cleared the forest and his feet hit asphalt. His sneakers pounded the ground and his breaths became labored. The adrenaline from the narrow escape barely registered in his blood stream.

A scratching sound came from his pocket. He reached in with a gloved hand to be sure his cargo was safe.

"You better be worth it," he whispered to one in particular.

* * *

Roddy ignored the sounds coming from the flat upstairs until it became too much. He grabbed the nearby broom and started banging on the ceiling.

"Oi, Keep it down! We're still open!" There was a growl but the couple upstairs quieted down.

"Freaking loud. Don't seem to realize we have customers." Roddy knew it was a lie but it made him feel better about it. Actually, the little repair shop was not busy. Ever and period.

They specialized in clockwork machinery and parts. Ever since the turn-over, where just about everyone lost an appendage, the number of clockwork parts increased. Some people were willing to amputate body parts to replace them with clockwork pieces. Very rarely was one without it. The rich could afford to have full sections of their bodies remade with gold or crystal. Still others had silver and other precious gems. Parts became part of a fashion trend. However, the poor only got parts when they could afford it. They were never decorated. Working in factories, most people chose iron or steel so it wouldn't be too badly crushed by machinery.

Roddy started tinkering with the little clockwork violin he was making. Since starting at the shop he had learned a lot. It was enough to manage this little feat. He wound up the little machine and let it play. There were a few discordant notes but it sounded passable, definitely better than last time.

The bell at the door sounded, as he pried the top off.

"I'm looking for a Mr. Wolfe?" The person who entered was in his early twenties, about the same age as Roddy. He was something muscular and tough. Posh looking was a given with his red silk cravat and the three piece suit. It made Roddy and his jeans feel like plebeians.

"Mr. Wolfe is busy at the moment." He waved the man off when he tried to protest.

"Thank you, Mr. Wolfe, the calibration was just what I needed." Detective Nick Burkhardt appeared from behind a curtain. _Yeah, calibration alright_, Roddy thought.

Monroe appeared from behind the same curtain. "Not a problem, Detective. Only the best for Portland's finest."

"Yeah, literally and figuratively," Roddy huffed as he tinkered with his violin. Nick thanked him again as he left.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Rabe, you wanted a repair done?" Monroe grinned as if nothing had been going on a few minutes ago upstairs.

The brown eyed visitor had the gall to smile back. "Yes, though it is minor. If you are busy someone else can handle it."

"If it's minor, Roddy here can take care of it." Roddy yelped at the sound of that, but Monroe fixed him with a glare. The lazy Grinch went into the house and, if he guessed correctly and he was always correct, cleaned up.

Roddy turned into the destroyer of his quiet afternoon. "I'm his assistant. How may I help you?" the man seemed clearly repulsed to have a sewer rat, like Roddy, talking to him.

"Just my leg." The man knocked his can against his leg. Fashion, Roddy guessed.

He was right. When he set the visitor down and started taking notes on the condition and product, he discovered it to be a custom in chrome. He figured it was a European model from the German printed on the heel. It was perfectly shiny in its perfection and definitely worth more than Roddy plus everything he owned, which was to say not much. _Rich kids have it all._

The customer removed his shoes in a huff and gave Roddy a look of distaste the whole time.

A flat head removed a panel and started checking out the internal pieces. It was all clean and new. There was a special tube for nerves and all that new fangled junk. Roddy peered past that and into the greater interior workings.

"It's just a loose screw." He reached for his screw driver with gloved hand and started tightening.

"Tell me if it hurts." There was no sound as he worked. After tightening, Roddy ran a check on the man's leg. Everything else was perfectly fine.

"That's it." The man looked at him strangely, well stranger than before.

"Don't you mean 'sir'?"

Roddy turned back from the form he was filling out. "Name?"

"Barry Rabe and didn't you mean to add 'sir' to the end of that? Have you spent so much time in the slums you don't recognize money when you see it?"

Pompous git. This was why he stayed away from toffs and all their polished-silverware kind. Roddy finished filling out the form, trying to stop seething. The chip on his shoulder was turning into a great crack in the sidewalk.

"No." Roddy gave Barry the bill. "Of course not, _Barry_, I don't mean to say 'sir'."

"Of course not you're all uneducated oafs."

"And you haven't done a thing for yourself in your life.

"Toiler."

"Snob."

"Proletariat."

"Prat."

"Cockney."

"Clotpole." Barry turned a shade of red that put his cravat to shame.

He slammed the money onto the table. "Ugh… Cretins, like you, are what I detest the most."

"And high-baller's, like you, are what make the world die a little faster." Roddy gathered the rest of his steam to call out as Barry walked out the door.

"Au revoir! That's high school French for you!"

He could hear tut- tut's coming from behind. Monroe was leaning against the door frame.

"Oh, shut up. At least hate is legal." Monroe winced.

"Don't tell?"

Roddy winked and said, "That's what you pay me for."

* * *

Tada! You reached the end of chapter one. I wanted to upload this all in one chapter but I had it on good word (Io, no idea why I still trust her) that breaking it up would make it easier to read. So I upload as I feel. When it is all up, the post will arrive on Live Journal.

The title is subject to change but comes from a quote:

"The porcupine, whom one must handle gloved, may be respected, but never loved"

- Arthur Guiterman

That was not the inspiration for the story. A journal will be written for the inspiration (since it is rather long) and the phenomena that led to the birth of this fiction.

On an off hand note, we shouldn't have genres. We should have the spectrum of reality.


	2. A Day in the Lives

The "master's lodge" wasn't really a lodge of any kind. It was a market and was housed in a warehouse on the west side. There one could procure and sell just about anything. It was mostly frequented by the normal populace while and servants of the upper class. Roddy wandered to the apothecary's stall.

"Holly?"

A red head got up from her chair in the back and loped to the front of the stall. "Roddy, it's a pleasure to see you here."

"Rosalie?" Roddy furrowed his brows. "Where're Holly?"

"I let her run the shop today. I wanted to get in touch with my roots." She chuckled at her pun. Roddy knew that Rosalie's family had started shop in the master's lodge long before starting a shop in the square.

"Have anything to sell?" Rosalie cultivated many of her plants but a few were only found wild. The fact of the matter was to have it imported or scavenged. Roddy's nose was one of the best on them. His only rival was the apothecary's shop girl, Holly.

"I have this." He held out the rare weed. It was used in the creation of a few medicines, the best kind. Rosalie gasped at the sight of violet leaves and a stem covered in thorns.

"You found this? But the only place it the air strip." Roddy didn't answer. Her face contorted into shock and awe. "You were there during the memorial!" For the death of soldiers on the front, the army had set off canons. Twenty-one cannon balls shot down the strip tearing apart anything that was in the way.

"You said that a girl needed them?" Rosalie nodded mutely. Roddy knew that girl from one of Nick's cases. She worked in the sewing shop making ladies' dresses. Her fever had stopped her from work and set their family back.

Rosalie took his gloved hand and clasped a few bills in it. "Sally's father will be so happy."

Roddy didn't look at the amount and stuffed it in a pocket. "Thank you, Rosalie."

She gave him a loving smile. "Try to stay safe."

Roddy didn't' reply. Instead he vanished into the crowd, making his way to the rat-catcher's stall. It was his father's, the family business.

"Hey, Roddy, what have you been up to?" The old man gave him a heartfelt smile. A six month stint in prison had done wonders to his personality.

"Not much. Dealt with a toff yesterday. Good on the eyes but still annoying."

His father poked an empty trap. "Well, Sarah put you in a bad place." Roddy reached into his pocket.

His father stared at his gloved hand. "That's too much."

"No, you're behind again." The last thing Roddy wanted was his father, who finally bothered to renovate their house, to get behind on payments and resort to the things that got him in prison in the first place. Not that Roddy ever went back. He lived in the room in the back of Monroe's shop like any good shop assistant. "Rosalie paid me for some herbs. No big deal." His father gave him a nervous smile, proud and wary, unwilling to take it.

Roddy shoved the bills into this hand and walked away.

* * *

"And he is just as annoying as anything." Roddy should have had more friends. Really, he should have. But he seemed to be very happy with the ones he had. Sally, Holly, Gracie, and Hanson were all sitting on the floor of Monroe's house chatting.

They had been brought together by Nick, a person who got them where they were today. Nick seemed to have many people who owed him favors. That was how all of them got the jobs they did. Despite their differing upbringings, they got along famously, enjoying every day that they spent in each other's company. Friday evenings were often the best days of the week. There was just one more day until Sunday, when all shops closed. Gracie was especially happy since her brother worked at the bakery. He left early to bake the bread and came home late dusted in flour. Her work as an apprentice to the jeweler was more flexible and offered rooms for both.

"You two should get married the way you go on." Holly hugged a pillow across the floor from him.

Roddy's favorite was Holly. Since her rehabilitation and assimilation, she turned out to be the wittiest of all. Her cynicism was just a rival to his. The others closer to his lifestyle were Gracie and Hanson. They were street rats like him. Sally was younger than most and seemed a little sweet on him.

"So the toff is talking to you?" Sally's face was a little pink. Her fever had gone down dramatically.

"No, he just left, the bugger." Sally sighed, she had been of a similar upper middle class. Though, Barry seemed out of her league even.

Holly faked a faint. "Oh, our little rat's fallen for a bear! What are we to do?" Hanson followed her lead putting a hand on Roddy's shoulder and giving his straightest face.

"You see son, when two men love each other very much…" They erupted into laughter.

"Don't call Nick!" Gracie received another round of their laughter. There was no guilt pointing out the dangers of it. Yes, there were repercussions. And every one of them knew it.

"So, honey, should we let this big bad bear near our baby?" Holly leaned on Hanson in laughter.

Tears were in his eyes as he went on, "Of, course not, precious kitten."

Roddy smacked both of them with a pillow and they went on like old house wives on whether or not the maid on Maple Street was going to made an honest woman and whether Juliette was enjoying her marriage to that count.

Holly and Hanson went one calling each other sweet nothings. If anyone was to be married, it was those two. Gracie had given them her blessing and Sally promised the nicest gown in Portland history.

"And you Roddy?"

Roddy shrugged. "How about I give you guys a clock?"

Holly prodded him with a violin bow. "That's not until the first anniversary."

It was a wonder how she knew that.

* * *

WALL IS UP.


	3. Happyness and the Pursuit of

Wall of Disclaimers is up.

* * *

A week later, Roddy had his breath taken away. The toff, Barry Rabe, was in the shop showing off like a peacock. Upon seeing Roddy, his ego deflated into something that fit into the room. All of Roddy's haste to leave left too.

"I'm sorry." Roddy stared at the brunette before him. Brown eyes searched the floor and the proud head was bowed. If before Roddy had called him more a bear than a man, now he seemed like a cub searching for his mother. It must have been some scolding.

Unintelligently he replied, "For what?"

"For calling you a plebian." Roddy blinked at him for a second before jumping onto his own apology. The one Monroe made him swear to do on threat that he would lose all privileges, which in Monroe's book included bathing. Roddy had gotten rather used to regular baths.

"And, calling you a prat." Roddy rubbed the back of his neck.

Barry flushed. "I was one," he volunteered. Barry tapped the floor with his shoe. "Do you want to go out?" Roddy's head snapped up, alarm in his eyes.

Barry's hands went up. "Not like that! I mean for a 'My da put me up to this so can we get it over with' cup of coffee?" Roddy was tempted to take him up on the offer in the 'serves you right loser" way but recalled his earlier engagement.

"Sorry, no, I have to talk to a professor." Barry looked surprised. "Shocking that I went to school?"

"Yes, very," Barry sneered.

"Scholarship to Von Hamlin, I'll have you know." Roddy was on his way to the door.

"The Portland symphony is begging to have me."

Barry gave him a visible once over from behind. "They aren't the only ones."

"You're right." Roddy kicked the door frame. "The Royal Symphony in England wanted me too."

* * *

"How about a walk?" Barry was at the shop again. Recently, Holly and Hanson and, well, just about everyone else had taken to appearing in the shop to see the two and their "courtship."

For his part, Barry brought gifts to say sorry for their little spats. They were practical and fanciful. Today, Barry had brought him a set of leather gloves. Last week was a sheaf of music, which was a long shot better than what they started with. That was a wheel of cheese. The only explanation for that gift was "you seemed like the cheese eating type". That was ridiculous because Roddy hated cheeses of every kind.

Roddy looked at Monroe who gave him an off handed wave. No one was going to visit on Wednesday morning.

"Sure." They walked across the quiet street to the park situated directly across from Monroe's house.

The quiet park was always in green. Even as winter was coming on and all the trees lost their leaves, the park stayed a refreshing emerald. They walked for a good five minutes on one of the smaller trails, talking about their past weeks. Their shoulders bumped in a familiar way whenever the trail got too narrow.

"What do you play?" Barry asked out of the blue.

Roddy thought on it. "Cards?" Roddy offered.

Barry gave him an indulgent look. "I mean the instrument. I know Monroe plays the cello."

Roddy sighed, hands slipping deeper into his pockets. "Violin."

"Violin." Barry repeated. The words sounded so sweet on his tongue. "Did you stop?"

"Yeah, how'd you guess?" Roddy's ungloved hand left his pocket and dangled by his side. They stopped and turned around, realizing they walked farther than intended.

Barry's hand brushed his.

"You always make little music boxes in that shape."

Roddy sniffed. "I'm that obvious?" The other hand clasped onto his, fingers intertwined.

"Yeah, that obvious."

* * *

"Tell me why I'm doing this?" Monroe shoved a box into his arms.

"Frank Rabe wanted to meet the kid who did an attitude adjustment on Barry." Roddy snorted and brought the box to the hansom. Six months of visits and walks from Barry had taken its toll on his nerves. He'd taken to snarking as often as possible. This led to Barry's friends, as he was often with friends, to call him an old hen-wife. And it all started with Mr. Rabe forcing Barry to apologize for his rudeness.

"So what?" Roddy hopped into the hansom.

Monroe got into the cab after him. "I'm taking you with me on this repair. He wants a clock fixed and his father wants to buy some." Unlike most, Monroe knew about the original clocks and not just clockwork pieces.

"So we're bringing all this?" Monroe brought five medium sized clocks of varying design. Roddy's musical violins were stowed in another box. Mr. Rabe had an interest in those too. They went on another half hour discussing the pros and cons of switching to aluminum, a cheaper but flimsier substitute.

Monroe spoke out of the blue. "You could always pick up the bow again."

Roddy gave Monroe's hands a sad look. "We both know…" he looked at his gloved hand. Monroe shook his head as the carriage pulled up to the Rabe's mansion.

"I know that you're still brilliant." A strong hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Now, go move these boxes."

* * *

The maid was not letting him in. He had gone back to get the violins when they asked and now faced a little fiasco.

"I'm with Mr. Wolfe." The maid looked him over. 'Dark, worn pants, unbuttoned shirt, and no tie' was written on her face.

"I find that hard to believe." Darn Monroe and his suit.

"Roddy?" The source of the voice calling him came from behind as a horse cam up the drive. The rider dismounted, handing the reins to a stableman.

"Oh, hello, young master Rabe," the maid flushed an unappealing shade of pink. Roddy just turned to the voice.

He gestured with his head towards the girl. "Barry, can you get her to let me in?" He had seen her simpering over Monroe earlier. More likely it was worse with Barry. Though, now she looked scandalized.

Barry took the boxes from Roddy's hands, asking, "Is Monroe here?" Roddy nodded. The expression on his face was hard to discern. Instead, he spoke to the maid, "If he ever appears at the door again. Let him in, no matter what."

The girl curtsied, something Roddy took as a yes, and stepped aside.

Roddy muttered, "They're in the study." Barry and Roddy ascended the steps and entered the study silently.

Upon opening the door the first thing Barry whispered was, "Why didn't you tell me grandfather Elliot was here?"

Roddy, finding a little pleasure in the other's expression, smirked.

"You didn't ask."

* * *

"Barry, my boy, you've done well." The old man grinned madly at them. "This one's a keeper."

Frank pleaded with the older man, "Father, you are upsetting the boys."

"Fiddlesticks! Barry's young man is made of sterner stuff if he keeps up with Barry." Roddy turned red enough to put the strawberries on the custard tarts to shame.

"Grandfather!" Barry was just as scandalized, if not more.

"You know, back in my day, all this was legal," the old man began again. "You could marry anyone you well liked!"

"But it isn't now," Frank reasoned trying to explain what seemed to clearly be a social injustice.

The old man sipped his tea.

"Stupid young people." He winked at Roddy.

Roddy's snicker was almost inaudible but the old man gave him a not-so-crazy grin.

Afterwards, Roddy pulled Barry aside.

"I like your grandfather." Barry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness, because, if he has anything to say about it, we are getting married."

Roddy shrugged. "If all your relatives are that interesting, I don't think I'd mind."

Barry's grin was brighter than the spring sun.


	4. The Plumed Sword

Wall of Disclaimers is up.

* * *

"Play for me." Roddy stared at Barry. He wasn't quite sure when but somewhere along the past year, the "toff" had insinuated himself into Roddy's life. He was less of an upper class twat and more of a grudging friend. He even attended the weekly Friday night meetings.

Roddy shook his head and continued working on the newest music box. "I don't play anymore."

"Please, for me?" Barry gave him the face, which Roddy dubbed the "wounded bear" look.

Roddy shook his head again.

Barry huffed. "Why not? I know about your hand." Roddy froze. He'd tried so hard. So hard to not let Barry know.

"How did you know?" Barry pointed to the glove.

"That obvious, Roddy." Barry grabbed his hands. "But, I don't care about it. I've heard about you from everyone. You've played for everyone, but me."

Roddy tried to extract his hands from the iron grip to no avail. "What does that matter?"

"It matters to me."

"Whatever. I stopped playing long before I met you." Roddy avoided looking into those eyes.

Barry's grip grew tighter, almost bone crushing. "I have a steel leg. I know what it feels like."

"But not what it means!" Roddy snapped back. "I lost my scholarship! I lost my love. I lost everything! All because some toff's thought it would be funny to crush my hand with a meat hammer."

He took a deep breath. "That's why I bloody hate them. They took everything from me. My father stole to get me this hand and got six months in prison for it! He was just taking back what was mine."

Roddy's voice rose. "And when I got my hand back, they pinned a murder on me and got me expelled. I faced a twenty years to life. Guess what? It wasn't one of you that helped me. It was the cop! He got me off without a charge! What did those people do? Nothing. And one of them was my girlfriend. She told me she loved me, hand and all. But, she threw me to the dogs!"

Barry growled, "I would never do that, never."

"What? Just wait. One day your friends are going to turn their back and you'll drop my like she did. And it'll be worse because now there's some thing for me to lose."

"What's that? What's so important you won't play for me?" Barry gripped him harder.

"You!" Roddy yelled. "I'll lose you!" All the fight went out of him. He went limp, on the verge of tears.

"And I'll lose you too! Have you ever thought of that?" Barry huffed letting him go. "The reason why I wanted you to play was so I could get closer to you. I want you. And I know you love me too. Just say so!"

He didn't reply and Barry's face turned into a mask. Roddy stared, glassy eyed, at the hulking figure headed for the door way.

"I'll just see myself out."

The sound of footsteps receded and the bell on the door jingled.

It wasn't until the shop was silent again and all the air had cooled that Roddy let himself cry.

* * *

For a week, Roddy confined himself to bed. He ignored all sound from the outside world. He'd told himself a long time ago that angst over one's sexuality was overrated and stupid. But, that didn't stop angst in general.

Holly came in and gave a rousing speech about chasing what you wanted. She really had gotten very good at English. She should run for mayor. Everyone would vote after hearing a speech like that. Hanson gave him a heart to heart, which honestly made him feel worse. Sally was still simpering as usual. Gracie was the only one to get him to eat. She clucked at him all the time. Monroe would grab his cello and invite Roddy to play, unaware that was what caused the whole ordeal. And, Nick was still Nick, trying to help in his foreign, detective ways. After the week was over, he went back to work still a little soggy.

"Your tunes are getting more and more mournful." Roddy stopped to actually listen to the music box. Yeah, it was very sad. He thought to title it the Requiem of the Heart rather than The Fae Queen. His work was more with securing parts but every once in a while, he would stop and work all night on a music box. Each sounded worse, by that more melancholy, than the last.

A month passed like that, in a haze. It wasn't until Holly pointed it out that he realized he hadn't spoken to Barry in a month.

"You need to make up with him. You look like road kill." Never one to mince words, Holly was.

He seriously considered it, but never did anything about it. He still wasn't sure. The past year, two months, ten days, and twenty seven minutes had been the greatest time of his life, rivaled only by the time when he had his real hand. Even then, this was still worth more than its weight in gold.


	5. Pieces for Puzzles

Wall of Disclaimers is up.

* * *

The bell rang on one blustery morning, rather odd for June, and he turned to greet the customer.

"Hello, Roddy, my boy." Grandfather Elliot, because he had insisted on that and Mr. Rabe was his son, was removing his hat and scarf. Roddy unwound the long piece of fabric and set it on a hook.

"How are you, Grandfather? Do you need a repair? Monroe's out to get some glue remover."

"Very good, Roddy. Peak o' my health. Besides, I can wait." The old man sat and Roddy invited him to tea.

"Thank you, my boy." The old man accepted the cup gratefully. "This cold spell came outa nowhere."

Roddy poured himself a cup. "You're right."

"If I recall, it started when you two began fighting. And Barry was moping like, excuse the wording, a wounded bear"

Roddy gaped. "You don't mean to say I caused this? That's scientifically impossible."

"Since when have I believed in science? Fairies and unicorns are real. I know. I met one in my younger days." Elliot added sugar to his tea and stirred thoughtfully.

Roddy sipped his. "So that's the reason why you're here?" Frank Rabe had already paid an uneventful visit. There was some asking and not-pleading. Then some promises of getting a law overturned. None of that had been very interesting.

"Roddy, I like you. Cutting straight to the chase." The old man grinned. "I want to understand."

Roddy warned, "Many have tried."

"But, I can succeed." Roddy couldn't help but think if anyone was going to help him get anywhere it was the Elliot Rabe.

"So have any guesses?" Unlike the others, Elliot stirred his tea and thought. He looked at Roddy, the work table, the shop, and everything else. For his part, Roddy waited in silence, sipping his tea and munching on butter biscuits. They went on that way for a good ten minutes. The tension was broken when Grandfather Rabe finally spoke.

"You love him." And that was perhaps the closest guess in a long while. The old man seemed satisfied, but not in his guess. He was satisfied in something else, something Roddy did not know of.

"Yeah, I love him," he heard his voice say. The old man took a sip of his tea.

"I thought so. You aren't afraid for yourself anymore." Elliot seemed more proud of this point as his grey eyed gleamed.

Roddy nodded, sullenly. For once, someone had gotten it right. His frustration was never with how he would be treated. No, it was with himself for doing something like that to Barry. Barry, who brought him gifts, who smiled, who made Roddy smile, was the most important thing in his life.

The old man chuckled. "I guessed as much. The only one too, eh?"

"Everyone thought I was terrified of getting caught."

"Your low self esteem didn't help. Clockwork hand?" Roddy smiled. Elliot had the same thing, except he never wore gloves.

"Barry loves my hands, I didn't want to."

Elliot informed him around biscuit, "He knew. He loved them anyway. All that's left is fear."

Roddy interjected, "But…"

"I mean fear for him," Elliot clarified.

"Yeah, I was more afraid for him," Roddy conceded.

Elliot sipped his tea. "Now, why is that?"

"Barry's sheltered. He doesn't quite get it. I mean: a death penalty? He doesn't realize exactly how much the cost is, what it would do." Roddy's hands were shaking making the cup and saucer clatter.

"Set it down, boy." Roddy did as he was told. "I think you'll find Barry knows better than you think. He loves you enough to ignore it. You have to be a little selfish to do something like this." He gave Roddy an indulgent look. "You fail in that, my boy."

Roddy muttered, "You'd think a street rat like me would be one of the most selfish people in the world."

"Ah, ah, ah." Elliot refilled his tea. "Who said a street rat was selfish? I was a street rat once. Monroe and Nick are selfish."

"How?" Those two were the most selfless people he knew.

"They love each other dearly enough to ignore the consequences, boy, get that in you skull."

"But, they aren't…" Elliot cut him off.

"I know all about it. Don't think I'm stupid. Unless, you're slow and haven't guessed yet."

Roddy chewed on his lip. "They want to me to be quiet about it."

"And who listens to an old man like me? Not even my son, though now he's getting some sense into his skull. Nice to know you aren't a dull tack," Elliot iterated.

Roddy grimaced but said nothing. "So what do I do?"

"Tell him, boy."Elliot scoffed. "And, I thought you were sharp. Never mind. I retract my compliment."

"I'll see him whenever."

"Whenever? You should…" The old man was interrupted by a hacking cough.

Roddy was by his side in a moment. "I thought you said you were in perfect health."

"I am," he wheezed. Another round of coughing interrupted his protests and wracked his frame.

Perfect health was did not wheeze! Roddy thought and his brains supplied the rest.

Oh, heavens, the old man would die on his floor!

"I'll get you to Rosalie's." He darted out into the street. There was never a cab when you needed it and Elliot hadn't kept the coachman waiting. He called to the neighbor boy.

"A pound if you get me a cab and fiver if you get it here in less than a minute." The boy, enticed by money, pelted down the street.

Roddy went back inside in time to help Elliot to his feet.

"Come on, you are not going to die on me."

Monroe, chose that moment to appear in the door way. Dropping his bag, he rushed to Elliot's other side.

"What happened?" Monroe inquired. He was taking most of the old man's, who was surprisingly heavy, weight.

"He started coughing and wheezing." Monroe had studied medicines but never kept any on hand. The nearest stop would be Rosalie's.

"I got you your cab." Roddy dug his hand into this pocket and stuffed a handful of coins at the boy. The driver got down and helped them into the cab.

"The apothecary's. As fast as you can." Monroe stuffed bills into the man's hand.

"There's more where that came from." If the speed the carriage was going was anything to go by, the man had an empty wallet. When it skidded to a stop, Monroe paid the driver while Roddy dragged Elliot into the shop. Holly was in the door way the moment the cab stopped

"Holly, get Rosalie." She was off before he finished the sentence.

"Come on. You're going to make it." Elliot coughed when Roddy set his down in a chair.

Rosalie came out in her cleaning apron, a harrowed look on her face. "Mr. Rabe!" she started running diagnostics and telling Holly to add things to a pot of water. On her part, Holly was effictient starting a Bunsen burner and boiling water while adding a plethora of herbs and powders. Roddy stayed out tof their way and watched as the water turned into thick sludge and finally clear syrup. Holly started cooling a ladle immediately.

There was the sound of hoofs as the Elliot took the first sip. They watched him drink the whole ladle and settle. He breathed deeply and seemed to be exhausted by the whole scare.

"Is he alright?" Nick had arrived sometime in the maelstrom.

"Looks like it." The door slammed open then.

"Grandpa!" Barry pushed past them eyes on the frail figure in the chair.

"You're being too darn loud!" The old man huffed, clearly back in health.

Barry sighed, deflating in his relief. "Father told you not to go out."

"I had to. You weren't going to. And look, where are your manners? You just pushed by your boy right there!" Barry spun around catching Roddy in one of his attempts to hide behind Holly.

"Roddy? I…" He took a tentative step forward.

Roddy interrupted, "Grandfather Elliot told me everything."

Barry closed the distance. "And?"

"I feel the same way."

Barry's arms were around him in a rib crushing bear hug.

"I can't breathe."

Barry let go and settled on stroking Roddy's hair instead.

There was a breathy chuckle from the chair. "Now was that so hard?" Elliot beamed proudly at them.

Barry seemed astounded. Roddy grabbed Barry's face. "Come here."

He pulled the larger man into a kiss. Rich, warm, and, oh, so right.

When they finally parted, Rosalie smiled winningly at Nick. "You won't report this, will you?" Except he was already getting his face sucked off by Monroe.

Holly smirked. "I guess not."

Monroe stopped long enough for Nick to reply. "Huh? What? Oh! Yeah, can't report it. Didn't see a thing." They went back to sampling each other's mouths.

"So, I guess this is our happy ending?" Barry asked.

Roddy kissed him again. "God, yes."

Barry kissed him back.

"Don't bring God into this."

* * *

I'll get the epilogue up tomorrow. Thanks for sticking with me so far.


	6. Iron Velvet

Wall of Disclaimers is up.

* * *

"Barry, what did you want to show me?" Roddy was fumbling since he couldn't see past Barry's large hands.

Just months ago, the laws against homosexuals in general had been over turned. Holly, being a well versed speaker, had won over parliament in her supercharged speech. Frank's firm had jumped on the case for good publicity, but, under the table, many thought this was a long time coming. Those two would be an unstoppable duo. In the time since then, Monroe had made an honest man of Nick. And, Hanson had gathered the courage to propose to Holly. (He was accepted.) Sally found love with a silks merchant. Gracie had sworn off marrying only to be promptly swept off her feet by Kevin, an apprentice with Hanson. Everyone seemed to be falling during the spring haze. Even Rosalie had started a long courtship.

"Just a little further." Barry guided him to the middle of the room. "Here."

Roddy blinked at the sudden change in light. The room was brightly illuminated by windows. Under his feet was a plush patterned rug. There was a stand for music and a shelf filled with books on the left. To his right, there was a cherry wood desk. On it was a violin. Correction, it was his violin with new strings and a fresh bow.

Roddy stroked the old wood. It was cool at his touch, familiar under his hand. "How did you?"

Barry hugged him from behind. "Monroe was willing to dig it up." Roddy glanced at his gloved hand.

"Can I?"

Barry whispered into his ear, letting go, "If you trust me."

Roddy undid the clasp of his glove. "I trust you."

The hand was made of titanium. The parts were strong and agile due to regular maintenance. It glinted harshly in the sunlight. Metal, not flesh. Another hand wrapped around it.

Barry brought the metal extension to his lips."I love this part of you too." Roddy let him kiss the cool metal. He retracted and readied that hand on the neck. His right picked up the bow and started pulling it across the strings.

The sound that came out was light and fluttery. It was a flurry of notes, each sharper and more wild than the last. His fingers moved instinctively. Sweetness, without being saccharine, permeated the piece and the softness of cashmere followed. Every note had its own words and beat, glittering as it swirled around the room. Barry stood in rapt attention, his mouth slightly open in awe. Roddy quirked up the edges of his mouth in a phantom smile. The piece slowed and stopped, leaving the listener and composer startled out of a lovely day dream.

Barry leaned in and brushed his lips against Roddy's forehead.

"I love this part of you too."

Two gold bands glinted in the light.

* * *

"Iron hand in a velvet glove."

- Charles V

Thanks for reading, everyone. Nick and Monroe? Maybe...


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